


Little Lion Man

by AppleCherry108



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: I have no idea what to tag this as
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-26 16:25:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18182954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleCherry108/pseuds/AppleCherry108
Summary: It was not your fault, but mine.Shiro clears his conscience.





	Little Lion Man

**Author's Note:**

> So... Apparently I was Too High on Loving Lance Juice, because this came out of nowhere and happened all at once. I _am_ working on Last Dance, this wasn't planned lmao

It’d been another rough mission, with another close call, and a lot more squabbling than a functional team should tolerate.

Shiro was no stranger to being a leader, to being an _instructor_ , but being the Head of Voltron was a whole other ballpark compared to the Garrison. At the Garrison, things could be impersonal. Procedural. He could hide behind rules and committees and decisions that were “out of his hands.” He could lie. Bold-faced or by omission, but he could.

There was no room for lies in Voltron.

He had to come clean.

Shiro easily found him on the training deck—a habit he knew of in passing from a junior officer named Veronica. His stomach turns over uneasily. He should’ve said something sooner.

“Lance,” he calls out. Twenty feet away, Lance misses his shot with a startled jerk. Shiro doesn’t doubt that it’s the first one he’s missed the whole day.

The younger paladin ends the training program and rises from his crouched position as Shiro approaches. His sour expression doesn’t go unnoticed, even when he covers it up with something overly dramatic.

“I already got _the talk_ from Allura.” he sighs, waving Shiro off. “I’m too immature, and it’s my fault we almost got captured, and I need to stop picking fights with Keith, and _blah blah blah **I know**._” He takes a deep, steadying breath, a shadow of earnest emotion passes over his face. “I know…” he mumbles, looking tired and defeated.

Shiro studies him; the slump of his shoulders, the bow of his head—and it kills him. “Walk with me.” he says lightly. Lance’s head snaps up and he stutters a response. Shiro smiles patiently and starts walking off the training deck. Lance nearly trips catching up with him.

“Where are we going?” he asks, falling into step beside him. His voice is tense, like he’s expecting bad news.

Instead of answering, Shiro asks, “Do you remember when they were promoting cargo pilots from your class to fighter?”

Lance’s expression pinches. “Yeah?” he croaks, voice strained. Out of the corner of his eye, Shiro sees him clench his fists at his sides. He continues calmly.

“Do you remember how there were only two available slots?”

Lance turns his head away as he answers, “What about it?”

“It was between another cadet named Griffin, Keith, and you.”

Lance’s steps falter, but he quickly starts walking again when Shiro doesn’t stop. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“But,” Lance frowns, confusion written all over his face. “What about the other candidates?”

“There were no other candidates.” Shiro replies easily. He can’t help the small smile on his lips as he watches Lance work out this information. That smile is quickly wiped away though when Lance goes from shocked back to bitter.

“So… Even back then I couldn’t beat him, huh?” He breathes a laugh. “At least I came close I guess…”

Shiro finally stops; Lance bumps into him and quickly scuttles back a few steps. Shiro pins him with what he’s heard the others refer to as his Dad Look™. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Lance visibly wilts; face falling and posture crumbling. He bites his lip and quickly looks away. “ _I’m sorry_.” he bites out. “I know—I _know_ my—" his fists tighten, “ _shortcomings_ , affect the team. I _know_ I shouldn’t blame Keith, I—"

“You’re right.” Shiro interrupts. “You should blame me.”

Lance’s head snaps up. His cheeks are ruddy and his eyes have a telling sheen to them. His mouth opens and closes uselessly a few times before he finally gets out an indignant, “ _What?_ ”

“It’s my fault, Lance.”

“ _How_ ,” Lance’s voice breaks. “How is it— _your_ fault that I—I’m not—"

“It was between you, Keith, and Griffin.” Shiro’s words are spoken softly, like a confession. “Keith had the flight scores, but he also had a major discipline issue. He didn’t like rules and he liked taking orders even less. But he was a prodigy.” Shiro steels himself and meets Lance’s eyes. “Meanwhile, there was Griffin. Good flight scores, good grades, good at following orders to a fault—a perfect soldier in the making. And then there was you, Lance.”

Lance swallows dryly, his Adam’s apple bobbing, gazed glued to Shiro with rapt attention.

“Good grades, good flight scores—just as good as Griffin, maybe even better. You broke every record on the shooting range.” Shiro wills his voice not to tremble as he finally comes clean. “But you were a name on a piece of paper.”

Lance’s eyes widen impossibly further; his mouth falls open slightly.

Shiro closes his eyes and bites the inside of his cheek. “You were just a name, and I— _me_ — ** _I_** wasn’t objective.”

“What?” Lance asks, voice a ghost of a whisper.

“I had taken Keith under my wing—I wanted _him_ to succeed. I saw greatness in _him_ and ignored it everywhere else. He dreamed of going to space and I could get him there.” Shiro dares to open his eyes and is immediately struck by the shock, the _hurt_ , on Lance’s face. “I advocated for Keith to be promoted to fighter class. I was his unfair advantage. But there were only two spots available. Someone couldn’t make the cut. And I… I was selfish.”

Lance finally closes his mouth. His eyes flit over Shiro’s face one last time before they settle on his feet. “Why are you telling me this?” he asks, voice rough, broken.

“Because you have nothing to prove, Lance.” He places his left hand on the other boy’s shoulder and gives him a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not _less than_ Keith. You’re incredible. You’re an amazing pilot and strategist—we need you. I—" His grip tightens. “ _I_ need you. _Lance McClain_ —you’re not just a name on a piece of paper. You’re a Paladin of Voltron. You’re an invaluable member of this team.” Shiro’s lips quirk into a tiny smile. “And you’re the best shot in the galaxy.”

Lance hiccups and scrubs his eye with the heel of his hand. Shiro just keeps smiling.

“You’re so amazing, Lance. And I’m _so sorry_ that I—that _my_ selfishness, made you doubt that. You’re the best of us, Lance. We wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for you.”

Lance sniffles and finally looks up at him, tear-streaked face a mess. “What do you mean?” he warbles uncertainly.

Shiro’s smile softens. He turns and lays his palm over the scanner by the door they’d stopped in front of. The metal silently slides away to reveal the hangars, and towering before them, the Blue Lion.

“I asked the princess what qualifies a person to be the Blue Paladin.” Shiro feels Lance stiffen beside him, an embarrassed flush tinting the tips of his ears. “Do you know what she told me?”

Lance shakes his head, but doesn’t say a word.

Shiro turns his radiant smile towards the Lion as he speaks. “She told me, that the Blue Lion doesn’t have a specific quality. That its pilot must be fluid like water, able to adapt and overcome. That what makes a great Blue Paladin is greatness itself. The Blue Lion is the most particular of all the Lions, and it will accept nothing less than the most qualified Paladin. After all,” Shiro turns to Lance again, who’s gazing up at his Lion in awe, “Voltron _needs_ that leg to stand on.”

Lance snorts and turns to Shiro, a huge grin plastered over his teary face. “She did _not_ say that!”

Shiro shrugs casually. “I might be _paraphrasing_ a little…”

They share a quiet laugh. Shiro watches Lance out the corner of his eye; watches him stand a little taller, chin held high. He watches a spark flare to life in his eyes.

“We’re lucky to have you, Lance.” Shiro says after a long moment of companionable silence.

“Yeah?” Lance says, quiet, but not unsure.

Shiro hums an affirmative. “The Blue Lion is the pickiest, after all. It was presented with the most curious, the most reliable, the most headstrong, and the most decisive of Paladins, and it only opened up for you. Without you… We wouldn’t even be here.”

Lance sniffs quietly, surreptitiously scrubbing his face clean with his sleeve. He takes a deep breath and turns a quarter step to fully face Shiro. Shiro meets him with a sincere smile.

Lance returns it, eyes sparkling and brows creased with gratitude. “Thank you, Shiro.” he says, and for the first time in this whole conversation, his voice doesn’t waver once.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

Lance’s smile brightens, the corner of his mouth quirking up mischievously. “You’re right.” he says loftily. “You should be thanking _me_.” he declares, spinning on his heel.

Shiro laughs, full and hearty, and crosses his arms over his chest. “Oh yeah?” He smirks back.

“ _Mm-hm!_ You know who else should be thanking me?”

Shiro rolls his eyes. “Keith?”

“Keith!” Lance whirls around and jabs his thumb to his chest haughtily. “ _Mr. Hotshot Ace Pilot!_ Who made his dreams come true? _This guy!_ ”

Shiro lifts an eyebrow at him; Lance seems to realize what he said.

His eyes widen comically and a fiery pink blush paints his cheeks. He splutters several half-formed excuses. “I mean—that’s not— _ugh._ ” He drags a hand down his face and groans. He peaks up at Shiro from between his fingers. “Please don’t tell him I said that.” he mutters pleadingly.

Shiro chuckles and shakes his head. He steps forward and ruffles Lance’s hair, earning an indignant squawk from him. “Your secret’s safe with me, Sharpshooter.”

Lance peps up at the nickname. His smile almost splits his face as he follows Shiro out of the hangar.

 

 

 


End file.
